They Call Her Miss Green
by oldshowaddict2015
Summary: Before Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs, there was young Marguerite Bellamy, a young woman just starting out in the business. Set in 1987, she meets Nate Collins, Vic Vega and his little brother Vincent. In 1990, Vincent and Vic have a falling out, causing the other brother to quit. In 1992, a heist goes all wrong, people die, and all hell breaks loose for the members of the heist.


A/N: This is my first Reservoir Dogs fanfiction. I got the idea from watching the movie, and, personally, I wanted to see more of Mr. Brown and get into his backstory and add in my own character at the same time. So please no flames. If you don't like it that's fine, just don't be rude about it. If you have any suggestions on how to make it better or if I do something wrong, feel free to PM me or tell me in the reviews. This _will_ go into the movie as well. But the first chapters will be from my own mind. This is kind of a crossover with Pulp Fiction, but is more Reservoir Dogs then anything.

Chapter One

I met this so called Mr. Brown in 1987. I was brand new to the business, doing odd jobs for Joe and Nice Guy Eddie. If they really needed me, I'd drive the getaway car. But it wasn't until June 17th, 1987 that we actually met.

At this point in time, I had been working for Joe and his son for at least six months. Eddie seemed like a pretty okay guy—I never talked to him much. His first words to me were, "Hey, kid. Put some more cream in this coffee." He set the cup down in front of me and walked into his father's office. I did as told and gave it to him. He hadn't said anything to me after that. Not until that day, at least.

It was early morning, maybe nine or nine thirty, I wasn't sure. I remember I was having some weird erotic dream that starred myself and a couple of guys, but I don't remember who. Probably some strangers my subconscious had conjured up. Lazily, I reached out and grabbed my phone. It fell off the receiver and hit the floor.

"Ah, you cocksucker." I snapped at it. I picked it up and put it to my ear.

"— _ello_?" the voice sounded annoyed. Sounded like I caught this guy in the middle of saying his third or fourth hello.

"Hello? Sorry, my phone fell off the receiver..."

" _Marguerite? Nice Guy Eddie._ "

"Eddie! Holy shit." I sat up. "Hey. Wow, didn't know you had my number."

" _You wrote it down when you started working for us_. _Listen. I've got this job for you. Come down to my father's office in one hour, we'll explain more there_."

My eyes lit up. "You got it." I hung up and hopped out of the bed, throwing on some clothes. I wore a green sweater that exposed my left shoulder and light blue jeans. I frizzed my hair as much as it could, until it was a good three inches—the bigger the hair, the closer to God—put on my makeup, with the bright pink blush on my cheek bones, and green eyeshadow to accentuate my eyes—this was an interview, in an odd roundabout sort of way, I needed to look nice—and made sure my Converse were tied before quickly slipping them on. I grabbed the car keys to my blue 1974 Pontiac Firebird Formula 400—my father had given this to me in his will when he passed away two years ago, and it really pissed off my brothers—and ran out to my car. My hands were sweaty. I was so nervous, you wouldn't believe. This could be my first big job. I had no time to fuck this up. If I did, only the Lord would know what would happen.

I drove off as Journey blasted through my speakers. I bit my lip, trying to go as fast as I could without going the speed limit. When I parked, I got out of the car and hurried inside without looking so excited or nervous. I looked at my watch. 10:00 on the dot. I quickly pulled out my compact and looked at my hair. I fixed it a little and then put my mirror up. Taking in a deep breath, I shut my eyes to calm down before putting my hand firmly on the doorknob.

 _Remember, Margie. Firm handshake. That'll show 'em that you mean business._

My father's advice rang through my head as I opened the door. The sound of laughter reached my ears. Four men, Eddie being one of them, were in the office. The oldest, Joe, sat behind his desk. He was practically bald, except what little hair he had that was on the sides, and back, of his head. And that was sheet white. He was a big guy, not huge but you could tell he hadn't missed too many meals. Eddie was sitting on the corner of Joe's desk, his hands relaxed on his knee. His hair was either some kind of light brown or dark blonde—I was never exactly sure—and he wore this purple and light blue jacket, that was horrible looking to me, and jeans with a white t-shirt. I looked to the left and a man with jet black hair and a smirk on his face sat there. He was dressed nice, with what looked like some kind of expensive t-shirt and jeans and dress shoes. Never had I seen a man wear nice, black shoes with jeans. Looking to the right, there was a man with dark brown hair that reached his chin. He had a sort of excited, boyish smile on his face that was, in my opinion, kind of cute. He wore just casual clothes that any Average Joe would wear, and it looked as if his tennis shoes had seen better days, the bottoms were so worn. The front of the left shoe was kind of hanging off. It was obvious he messed with it. Hell I would too.

"Marguerite. Right on time." Eddie gestured to the empty chair between the two men I didn't know. "Sit down, we'll get to business."

I nodded and sat down. I placed my hands on my knees, sitting up straight. _Up straight, Margie, that's a good girl_. My mother's snobbish voice nagged. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Doing it here and now would be pretty bad.

"Marguerite, this is Vic Vega," Nice Guy Eddie motioned to the man on the left. "He's been with us for a while and a..." He searched for the words. "A good luck charm for any jobs we get."

"Hey there." Vic gave a half smile and extended his hand. I took it, giving my best, firm handshake.

"Hi." I smiled softly.

"And this is Nate Collins. Referred to us by Vic."

I looked at the other man, who smiled and shook my hand. We locked eyes for a moment before I smiled softly and looked away.

"Now listen." Joe, the older man in the room, spoke in his gruff voice. "This job is important. You can't fuck this up." He looked at each of us. I tapped my hands on my knees to some song stuck in my head. I could tell what it was—it was the chorus—and I tried not to make it obvious what I was doing. "Miss Bellamy. Quit that."

"Sorry." I clasped my hands together. Nate chuckled quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vic smirk a little.

"Now, there's this guy. His name's Quincy Wilson. He owes Dad money." Eddie stood and clasped his hands behind his back, earning himself an air of premature sophistication. After all, this guy had to be early to mid-twenties. Now, if it was Joe doing that, it would be more than welcome.

"How much money we talking about?" I crossed my legs.

"Fifteen thousand dollars."

Quietly, Vic whistled once.

"Jesus Christ." Nate shook his head.

"So I'm guessing you want us to go find this motherfucker and go Godfather on his ass." I messed with my nails.

"Only if he can't pay it. If he can, just beat him up a little. Give him a black eye. If not, well..." Eddie looked over at Vic, who was smirking. "You know what to do."

There was a little silence as Eddie walked around to get a cigarette from the other side of his father's desk. After he lit his, he continued.

"This fucker lives 225 West Avenue, Hollywood." As he said this I quietly said it to myself to remember. "He goes to work from 9:30 in the morning and comes home around 6:00 in the evening. After that he reads the evening paper, jacks off to a couple of pornos, and then goes to get ready for bed. I suggest you go during one of the more vulnerable times."

"You mean when he's jacking off?" Vic raised his eyebrows.

"You could."

I started to laugh, this guy's face in my mind when we bust in the door and he's got his tallywacker hanging out for the world to see.

"What's so funny?" Joe snapped. I calmed down a little.

"Can you imagine this guy's face? It'll be fucking priceless."

"And this is why we're arriving at that exact time." Vic smirked. Eddie shook his head, a smile on his face.

"You go tomorrow evening. Vincent will meet you at the diner across the street of that motherfucker's house."

"Who's Vincent?" I raised an eyebrow.

"My little brother. We usually work together." Vic explained.

"Trust me. He's just as good as Vic on these jobs." Eddie nodded.

"Keeps his cool better than him too." Joe teased. Vic made a face. Nate chuckled quietly. He leaned in close to whisper in my ear.

"I think Vincent's better, but don't tell anyone." He said, only to where I could hear it. I nodded and he sat back, looking over at Vic for half a second and then out the window.

Yeah, it was safe to say that I had a crush on Nate Collins right from the start.


End file.
